Of Mixed Blood
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #20 Spock's daughter T'Beth comes to live with her Great-Aunt Doris on Earth, but her attitude brings trouble at home and at school.
1. Chapter 1

T'Beth's eyes opened suddenly. Stifling a gasp, she groped under her pillow and caught hold of something hard and sleek and coldly reassuring. Gripping it tightly, she lay motionless. The skin on the back of her neck crawled from the feeling that she was not alone, that someone—or something—had entered the dimly lit cubicle as she slept, and now stood at her back watching, waiting…

"Are you awake?" a soft voice questioned.

T'Beth went limp with relief. Sliding her hand out from under her pillow, she turned over and saw her grandmother backlit by the courtesy lights above the door. "Uh-huh," she answered. "Are we there yet?"

"Another hour," Amanda said. "I'm going to pack now. We don't want to keep your father waiting." Then she was gone.

T'Beth left her bed reluctantly. Turning up the lights, she took her time dressing. There was little else for her to do. Since coming aboard the starliner she had never felt secure enough to unpack, always felt as if the door might burst open at any instant and there would be a Klingon hulking forward to grab her. That was now it had happened last time, on the trip to Ildarani with her father. The trip to hell.

She stopped and stared at her reflection in the bedside mirror. The rich violet of her tunic went well with her hazel eyes and dark hair, but it accentuated her thinness. She looked bony and scared, drained from too many days of tension and sleeplessness.

She was glad to be leaving Vulcan after what the authorities did to her in the name of justice. Fresh anger stirred as she thought of her court-ordered confinement. Father had known. She had no doubt that he had known exactly what would happen when he urged her to admit vandalizing the Golheni Temple. She alone of the four participants had come forward. She alone had suffered the consequences.

Turning to her bed, she felt under the pillow and drew out the Golheni dagger. In her hands the gift from her Vulcan friend glittered with a wicked, hypnotic beauty. What was it T'Jhur had said? _The mere shadow of its blade will slice into an opponent's flesh._ Just a legend, but T'Beth half believed it. Curiously she examined the strange runes carved into the hilt of Vulcan jade. Father would probably know their significance. It pleased her to think how shocked and angry he would be to find out she had smuggled an assassin's weapon all the way from Vulcan. Perhaps someday she would tell him. Or perhaps not.

Bending, she pulled up her pant leg and slipped the steel blade into the sensor-resistant sheath strapped above her ankle. Her lips pressed together as she rearranged her clothing and looked down on herself, satisfied with the job of concealment. No one would ever suspect.

The final minutes dragged. The starliner was approaching the Solar System when T'Beth and her grandmother entered the crowded observation deck. Many of the passengers were Vulcan, and painstakingly proper in the manner of their people. They gave way politely as T'Beth headed to a window. Pressing her hand to the panel of clearsteel, she gazed out in wonder at the humbling array of planets and moons slipping silently through the vast darkness of Space.

Her heart beat fast as yet another planet loomed into sight, the spectacular blue of its oceans softly shrouded in clouds. Her breath fogged the window as she pressed nearer. Her eyes strained to distinguish the contours of the North American continent and its west coast. _There. Partway up. Right about in the middle._ Her heart slammed knowing that she would soon be there, knowing that her father was waiting for her, perhaps even at this moment looking up into the sky.

T'Beth's gaze shifted as the starliner slowed perceptively and banked past Starfleet's Spacedock. The main doors were tightly closed. Somewhere inside the mammoth structure, the new Enterprise NCC 1701-A was being readied for its first voyage. Jim would probably be aboard. _Captain_ Kirk—it seemed so strange calling him that. And her father, voluntarily taking a reduction in rank to serve as Jim's second-in-command.

None of it seemed right. She wished she knew more about what had happened after the court martial, but she wasn't speaking with her father and she was too uncomfortable with the subject to bring it up with Jim. It embarrassed her to think of Admiral Kirk being punished, even if the punishment probably suited him just fine. And as for Spock—she could not help thinking that whatever career Jim Kirk chose, her father would settle in nicely as his foreman, or secretary, or chief bottle washer.

T'Beth's view of Space was abruptly cut off as the starliner entered into its orbital bay. She turned and found Amanda standing close beside her. Shadows fell across her grandmother's face, making her appear older and smaller and disturbingly fragile. With a pang T'Beth realized that she was actually looking down on Amanda. It made her want to turn time back to the days when she was still small enough to nestle in her grandmother's lap. It made her want to forget all about growing up and leaving Vulcan and starting a whole new chapter of her life on Earth. Sudden tears stung her eyes. She was scarcely aware of the ship coming to a stop and the observation deck emptying around her.

Amanda grasped her hands and gently squeezed them. "T'Beth. It's going to be alright."

T'Beth struggled to keep from breaking down completely. What was the matter with her, standing here with her face all streaked, acting like a baby? "I…I don't want to see him," she choked out.

"I know, dear," Amanda said, the faded blue of her eyes warmly reassuring. "I know how much you've built this up in your mind, but it won't be half as bad as you think. Your father cares about you. Why else would he want you here?" She drew a lace-edged handkerchief from a pocket in her dress. Gratefully T'Beth wiped away her tears. The cloth smelled of night-blooming Vulcan tbari. It smelled like her grandmother—like home.

"Better?" Amanda asked.

T'Beth bit her lip and nodded. She did not intend to embarrass either of them with another public display of weeping. "Let's go," she said.

After processing, they were shuttled down to the regional Spaceport. The brief, breathtaking flight made T'Beth's stomach flip. Seated close by a window, she took in every detail of the descent. The blueness of the planet dazzled her—bright cloudless sky, mellow sunshine glinting off the waters of the Pacific Ocean. As the shuttle swooped toward San Francisco, she recognized the Golden Gate Bridge and towering headquarters of Starfleet Command, with the academy complex nearby. Off to the north she glimpsed Starfleet Medical Center, where she was born. Then the shuttle dipped sharply and glided to a smooth landing at the spaceport.

Passengers began to disembark. Grandmother got up, and prying T'Beth's hands from the armrests, coaxed her out into the concourse. The area was abuzz with passengers and people who had come to meet them. The bright maroon of three Starfleet uniforms stood out boldly from the many civilians. A young woman, a bearded stranger, and a man with blond hair.

T'Beth stopped. A strange feeling came over her as she scanned the concourse once again. "I don't see him," she said, still holding tightly to her grandmother's hand. Though Amanda said nothing, T'Beth could sense that she was also perplexed by Spock's failure to appear. He was far too conscientious a person to leave his mother and daughter stranded in the middle of a Spaceport.

"Yoo-hoo!" a cheery voice called out. "Mandy, T'Beth, over here!"

T'Beth and her grandmother turned toward the sound. A gray-haired lady with pink cheeks broke through the crowd and hurried over.

"Doris!" Amanda said.

T'Beth relaxed a little at the sight of her great-aunt.

Doris gave them each a quick hug. A little breathless, she said, "Spock couldn't make it. Ship got called away on some kind of emergency."

Oddly, T'Beth felt more disappointment than relief. The Enterprise called away—after all those bitter months of waiting for this moment, of dreading it. This had to be some kind of cruel joke. "He said he would be here," her voice shook. "Dammit, he said so!"

Doris' blue eyes widened at her.

"T'Beth." Amanda gave her hand a decidedly ungentle squeeze. "That's quite enough."

T'Beth jerked her hand free. Everywhere she looked, people were saying hello or saying goodbye to someone who really mattered. But not her. Oh, no. Well, this just proved how little her father cared. This was his way of hurting her, of paying her back for the way she'd been ignoring his messages. She heard Amanda starting to apologize for her conduct, and broke in rudely. "When will he be back, Aunt Doris? Did he bother to say?"

Doris shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, dear. I wish I could tell you more…"

T'Beth clenched her fists and bolted into the crowd. It was hours before Amanda and Doris found her in one of the many restaurants cubby-holed throughout the sprawling Spaceport. Hunched over the remains of a chocolate soda, T'Beth glowered at the weary-looking pair as they approached her booth.

Amanda stood over her, rigid with suppressed anger. "You ought to be ashamed, putting your aunt through this kind of worry and strain. Do you hear me?"

T'Beth put her lips to her straw and loudly sucked at the dregs of her soda. The sweet drink had soothed her, and now her tongue felt loose and reckless. Gazing up at Doris, she said, "I have behavioral problems, don't you know? In fact, I'm such a total ass that you'll probably want to change your mind about taking me in."

"T'Beth!" Amanda hissed. "If your father were here—"

"But he's _not_." T'Beth gazed at her from beneath a coolly raised eyebrow. "So it looks like you're stuck with me—again."

T'Beth went slack with surprise as Amanda's deceptively frail-looking hands gripped her by the tunic and yanked her straight out of the booth. The sudden, unexpected rise to her feet made her feel lightheaded. She had the unfortunate urge to giggle.

"You're tipsy," Amanda said with disgust.

"What?" Doris looked on, bewildered. "She's a minor. They don't even serve liquor here."

"It doesn't _have_ to be liquor," Amanda said, her fingers still clenching the front of T'Beth's clothes. "Does it, girl?"

T'Beth stopped smiling. A light dawned in Doris' eyes and she seemed a little flustered. "Oh. The sugar thing."

"She's just Vulcan enough, and she knows it. And now," Amanda said, shifting her grip to T'Beth's arm, "she is going to come with us quietly, or so help me I will smack her right here in front of God and everyone."

oooo

It had not been a very good beginning. T'Beth sat on the edge of her new bed glaring at the floor, at the wall, at anything but the conspicuously hung picture of Spock in dress uniform. Aside from that picture, it was really a very nice room, all crisp curtains and pine paneling. Even in her black mood T'Beth could see how carefully her aunt had prepared it—just like the dinner T'Beth had coldly refused. She did not feel like eating. She might never feel like eating anything again.

She picked Mister from her open suitcase and held the stuffed bear close. Outside her windows, the pale Earth light dwindled. It was almost dark when she heard footsteps in the hall. A moment later the door opened. A lamp came on.

"T'Beth," Amanda said behind her.

T'Beth hugged Mister and stared hard at a pine knot on the wall. She did not want to talk to anyone. She wished her grandmother would just turn off the light and go away.

Amanda moved in front of her. "You're acting like a child, T'Beth—a spoiled little girl who didn't get her way. Why, on the starliner you were still bent on giving your father the cold shoulder. Now that he's not here, you act disappointed. I've been putting up with this nonsense for months, and I'm tired of it."

T'Beth tried not to show how much the words hurt. The last thing she needed tonight was a lecture. Couldn't Gram see that?

"And as for your Aunt Doris," Amanda went on, "you have no right to mistreat her because of some falling out with Spock. Maybe you _are_ disappointed, but have you ever thought about how much you've let him down, too?"

T'Beth looked at her in anguish. "He hates me—doesn't he? That's why he went away."

"He went away," Amanda answered levelly, "because those were his orders. Starfleet doesn't stop and ask its officers if any particular order is personally convenient."

"He _must_ have known the orders were coming. He _must_ have had some warning."

"Are you so sure of that?"

"Yes!" Tossing Mister aside, T'Beth jumped up and paced the room like a nervous, angry cat. "You don't know what it's like. You had a father, a father who cared. You don't know what it's like to be cast off like some worthless piece of trash—" Her voice faltered. Stopping, she turned her face away and struggled to regain her composure. She would have given anything at that moment for the comforting touch of her grandmother's arms, but Amanda rigidly kept her place.

"Your father has _not_ cast you off. He has _never_ cast you off. While you, on the other hand, have repeatedly—"

"Oh, yes!" T'Beth whirled on her, eyes flaming. "Tell me everything that I've done to him! The sainted Spock—the perfect son—the father beyond compare! You don't know even _half_ the story!"

Amanda stepped closer and raised a hand as if she might slap her.

"Go ahead," T'Beth challenged. "Do it. Do it for _him."_

Amanda looked at her for a long moment before lowering her arm. "Get to bed," she said in a disgusted voice and walked out.

T'Beth kicked the bedpost hard—a painfully foolish move that she immediately regretted. Her foot ached furiously all night. It was almost dawn when she finally slipped into a light, fitful sleep. She awoke to full daylight and the pleasant sound of birdsong. There was a fleeting instant of disorientation before the memories returned, bringing a crushing sense of depression.

Pushing back the covers, she examined her big toe. It had taken the worst of it. Overnight the toe had swollen alarmingly and turned purple. The slightest movement sent spasms of pain through her entire foot. There was no way, T'Beth decided, that she could stuff the throbbing appendage into even a soft Vulcan boot and pretend as if nothing were wrong. Swallowing her pride, she hobbled barefoot into the kitchen.

Amanda sat at the table sipping tea. Doris turned from the sink, took one look at her and said, "Good heavens, child, what's the matter?"

T'Beth boldly squared her shoulders, but the words stuck in her throat. "I…I think my toe is broken."

"Pardon me?" Doris frowned. "Speak up, dear."

T'Beth's face went hot. "My toe," she repeated loudly. "I…stubbed it. I think it's broken."

They drove her by ground car to a clinic in a small community near Doris' canyon home. The doctor was a fussy, balding little man who seemed more interested in T'Beth's genetic lineage than in mending her bones, but eventually the job got done. He released her with a bottle of endorphine stimulator and a warning to stay off her feet until the last of the swelling subsided.

She spent the next two days lying on the couch with her foot propped on a pillow. She received no sympathy from Amanda. _You've made your bed,_ Gram might have said, " _now lie in it._ The unspoken message was right there in her eyes. But it was different with Amanda's sister. Day and night Doris showered T'Beth with attention. There was a nice datapadd with access to books and videos, and Doris' own beloved tomcat that spent hours in T'Beth's lap purring contentedly. And Doris brought food—lots of food. She was a talented, imaginative cook who took great joy in whipping up delicacies for anyone willing to eat them. Feeding thin people seemed to bring her the greatest pleasure of all. By the time T'Beth was back on her feet, she had added a pound or two to her painfully lean frame. It didn't show. Her face still seemed rather gaunt. Her eyes still looked hooded and haunted, turning sullen at the mention of her father or anything else that displeased her.

She was glad when she could move around again. Early on the morning of the third day, she strapped on her dagger and slipped out to explore. She had wanted to live at her aunt's house in Minneapolis, but she had to admit that this area was pleasant, even if it _was_ too close to Starfleet Command. Spring grass cushioned her steps as she hiked up the wooded hillside behind Doris' home. Accustomed as she was to the higher gravity of Vulcan, T'Beth found the going easy, even invigorating. At the brow of the hill she paused once and gazed down on the rustic-looking structure that was now her home, too. How small the house seemed, how insignificant in the face of so much natural beauty. For a moment it made her feel as if her own problems were just as small.

Turning, she moved on soundlessly. A large, flat boulder came into view, its smooth surface awash in sunlight. Perched smack in the middle was a small, bushy-tailed animal. T'Beth froze. The startled eyes of the creature met hers and they stared at one another. T'Beth became aware of her pulse quickening. With smooth, feral grace she leaned forward, easing her right hand toward her ankle. Her fingers stretched out and deftly seized the dagger from its sheath. There was a deadly flash of motion, sunlight on steel, and the creature lay impaled. Fascinated, T'Beth watched it writhe in a spreading puddle of red blood. She had never done anything like this before. She had always practiced on inanimate targets. She did not understand what primitive impulse had moved her to take up her knife and kill.

Tearing her eyes away, she glanced over the hillside. When she looked back, the animal was still. It troubled her that she felt so little remorse. Why, if her father had seen it— If Father had seen it, he would be shocked to the depths of his Vulcan soul, but why should that concern her?

She set her mind to the grim business of retrieving her dagger. There was no easy way to do it. Swallowing hard, she approached the boulder. Using two fingertips she immobilized the warm, limp creature and gingerly worked the knife free. Then she flung the dead body with its empty, staring eyes far away from her. With a shiver she crouched down and wiped the dagger's blade clean on the grass and fit it back into its sheath. What was done was done, and she could not deny a certain sense of satisfaction at having dispatched her prey so easily, so efficiently. Rising, she strode down the hill.

T'Beth entered the house through the back door. An aroma of cooking met her. At the stove, Doris turned and gave her a pleasant smile. "How's your toe?"

"Fine," T'Beth said, acutely aware of the dagger's weight above her ankle. She went to the sink and washed her hands.

"It's beautiful out there," Doris said, "isn't it? Lots of wildlife. Some of the squirrels are so tame, they'll eat right out of your hand."

"Really," T'Beth said, fighting a blush. She had never heard of squirrels, but there was a sinking feeling that they were small and gray and had soft bushy tails. Doris handed her a plate of ham and eggs. After five years on Vulcan, T'Beth had choked down enough grains and fruits and vegetables to last a lifetime, and Aunt Doris knew it. She went to the table and was eating hungrily when Amanda sat down with a bowl of cereal. T'Beth mumbled a greeting, shoved in the last bite, and started to get up.

"Wait a minute," Amanda said. "I want to talk to you."

This time there was no stopping the hot rush of embarrassment. They knew about the squirrel. Someone had seen her use the knife, and told them. Wiping her face clear of all expression, she lowered herself back into the chair.

Amanda said, "Today I'm registering you at Baybridge. It's a fine old school—a lot of 'Fleet officers and ambassadors send their children there."

T'Beth experienced a strange mix of relief and irritation. So it was not about the killing, after all. She said, "I already told you I don't want to go to any expensive snob academy."

Amanda put down her spoon and stared at her. Aunt Doris discreetly got up and left the room. A full minute passed before Amanda spoke again. "Baybridge is _not_ a snob academy. As for the expense, your father has left ample funds for you to—"

"I don't want his money," T'Beth cut in.

"I see," Amanda said with Vulcan-like patience. "Then what is it that you want?"

"I want to go to a plain ordinary school."

The lines on Amanda's forehead deepened. "T'Beth," she said gently, "do you remember that annoying doctor at the clinic? The way he clucked over you when he found out you were part human, part Vulcan, and part Sy?"

T'Beth nodded uneasily.

"People can be rude," Amanda went on. "Sometimes they can be downright cruel when confronted by someone who's different from themselves. You know it's true."

T'Beth looked down at the table. Since earliest childhood there had always been those who made her ashamed of what she was, who made her feel like a low-grade mongrel. On Ildarani and even on Vulcan it had been the same. She didn't like talking about it. She didn't like remembering the stares and the schoolyard bullies who had taken such pleasure in her humiliation.

"You know it's true," Amanda repeated softly. "And so does your father. That's why he chose Baybridge. You see, dear, many of its students are also of mixed blood."

Deep in her heart, T'Beth felt a cautious stirring. What if her grandmother was right? Maybe Father hadn't chosen Baybridge because of its academic standing or because it catered to the powerful and the wealthy. Maybe he had chosen Baybridge because its students were likely to be tolerant—because he was actually thinking of _her._

"Alright," she conceded after a long moment. "I'll take a look at it."

oooo

Baybridge was everything its brochure promised. Acres of attractive buildings on a wooded green campus, with course offerings to satisfy every academic taste. And a _riding stable_. T'Beth's heart beat fast at the sight of the well-groomed horses. For whatever reason Spock had selected this school, there among the hayracks and paddocks T'Beth found her own reason for staying.

She began classes the following Monday. Science, mathematics, and the history and literature of planet Earth. There, also, she resumed the ongoing psychiatric counseling that was a condition of her parole. It was hard adjusting to a new analyst. After nearly eighteen months, she still had difficulty talking about her vandalism of the ancient Vulcan temple and the confusion of feelings that led to it. Always there were questions about the time before, about the kidnapping and the Klingons, about all the horrible things Torlath did to T'Beth and her father. When it came to that, she usually just sat there and said nothing. Sometimes, though, she would get angry. She would tell the psychiatrist to go to hell and find her own Klingon and see if she felt like chatting about it afterward.

Counseling was not the only problem she encountered at her new school. Baybridge seemed loud and disorderly compared to the peaceful centers of learning on Vulcan. The girls tended to be clannish and silly. As for the boys, no one needed to worry about her casting some romantic Sy spell over them. They were mostly rough and immature. She did not even like them coming near her in the halls. If a boy tried to talk to her, she turned and walked away. Because of this she soon developed an unfriendly reputation. She tried to tell herself that she didn't care, that she was at school to learn, not socialize. But at times she envied the easy camaraderie of the other students.

One rainy day a group of girls approached her between classes. At their head stood Zorlaa Suderman, a claw-fingered Helvan mix with an abrasive personality.

"Your father is Spock," Zorlaa pronounced haughtily.

T'Beth looked at her and said nothing.

Zorlaa's yellow eyes narrowed. "Spock. The one who died and came back."

"Like Lazarus," someone snickered.

"No— _Frankenstein,"_ said Zorlaa, provoking much laughter from her fawning circle of companions.

Burning with humiliation, T'Beth escaped to her next class. The senseless cruelty of the girls gnawed at her as she took her seat. Choking back tears, she stared hard at her study terminal. Wherever she went, it was always the same. A struggle. A fight for survival. On Vulcan her father had thrown her to the wolves. Why should it be any different here? She found herself wondering what Jim and McCoy would have to say about Zorlaa. They were both so caring and protective, like uncles toward her. Sometimes she even wished they were something more—that Jim, especially—

 _No!_ As angry as she was with her father, it didn't feel right to wish someone else in his place. T'Beth did what she could to put the girls' words out of her mind and concentrate on her lesson.

oooo

That evening a compacket arrived from the Enterprise. T'Beth coldly bypassed her father's message. She did not want to hear anything he had to say. The packet advanced to the next communication. T'Beth found Jim Kirk grinning at her.

"So, kiddo, how do you like life on Earth? Sorry I missed you, but I'll make it up. As soon as we're through here, I'm heading back to Yosemite. Starfleet owes me part of a camping trip. Want to come along?"

She broke into a smile. "Yes!"

He nodded as if he had actually heard. "I bet you do! Start getting your gear together."

Impulsively T'Beth leaned forward and touched his fading image. Then he was gone, leaving her with a lonely feeling. She hadn't realized how much she missed him, with his quick humor and warm smile. They had spent quite a bit of time together before he left Vulcan. Simple little outings, but they had meant a lot to her.

Was he aware of her solitary confinement at ShiKahr? Had Father told him? She'd rather that Jim not know about her run-in with the law, yet he had his own history of "youthful indiscretions". Resetting the console, she listened to his message again, and for a time it was almost as if they were back together.

oooo

After next day's classes, there was a counseling session. T'Beth resented every minute spent in the psychologist's office, especially on such a fine spring afternoon, an afternoon made for horseback riding. As she left school, she glanced longingly toward the stable, but moved on. The shortcut to the shuttlebus wound through a thickly wooded area. It was quiet today, with most of the students already home. A little too quiet. T'Beth felt unaccountably edgy as she hurried along the deeply shaded trail.

Up ahead something moved. T'Beth hesitated.

"Hey, look!" A voice rang through the trees. "It's the daughter of Frankenstein!"

T'Beth ignored the Helvan's taunt and kept walking, but Zorlaa broke from the shadows and stepped into her path. Others moved in. With a stirring of panic T'Beth found herself surrounded.

"On your way home?" Zorlaa said with a sneer. "Mommy waiting?"

"Don't you know?" A pug-nosed girl poked a finger at T'Beth's small breasts. "She doesn't _have_ a mommy. Her daddy cloned her. _She's_ really a _he!"_

"Shut up." T'Beth said, her heart pounding. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Zorlaa smirked. "Neither does Spock, so they say. His mind's gone funny. Had to give command back to Kirk. Has to be babysat. Even needs someone to wipe his—"

"Shut up!" T'Beth shouted. "It isn't true. Spock isn't—" And the words tumbled out, shocking even herself, "He isn't even my father!"

Her tormentors just stared at her. Red-faced and trembling, T'Beth tried to push her way clear. Zorlaa's clawlike hand clamped onto her.

"Liar!" spat the Helvan.

The accusation pained T'Beth, all the more because it was true. She shoved at the girl, but Zoraa hung on tight. The Helvan's menacing companions crowded closer.

"What's the matter?" Zorlaa hissed. "Scared? Why, you're nothing but a stuck up lying little—"

"Leave her alone!" a loud voice cut in.

There was an instant of stunned silence. Heads turned. Eyes focused on a tall, dark-skinned youth standing in the shadow of a tree. T'Beth had seen the boy around campus, but didn't know his name. Nor did she care to know it. The only gratitude she felt was for the distraction he provided, and even that gave way to rage as she jerked free and turned on her startled tormentors. What happened then, she later remembered only as one had stood apart, watching a strange dream unfold. Light and shadow. Blurs of motions. Outcries of painful surprise. Then she was running, the rich air of Earth clean and cool on her burning skin.

She arrived home an hour late. Grandmother and Aunt Doris greeted her with worried looks and questions that she wouldn't answer. Retreating to her room, she locked the door and struck Mister off her bed. The hapless bear tumbled into a corner, its limbs twisted, its furry face turned to the wall. Dropping to her knees, T'Beth thrust her arm under the mattress. In a moment the Vulcan dagger was in her hands, cold and heavy. She had not felt its touch since the day she impaled the small animal. She had tried to live according to her rules of polite society. Pulling the razor-sharp blade from its sheath, she thought of Zorlaa and her clinging hands, of squirrels, and death, and her father. She looked with bitterness at Spock's picture on the wall.

"This is all your fault!" she accused. "If you hadn't made me go to that stupid school, I wouldn't need to lie! I wouldn't need to carry a knife! Everything would be different!"

His silent image gazed serenely past her, as if she did not exist. Aloof, untouched by the tortured wood grain of the wall, blind and deaf to her outpouring of emotion. With a sob T'Beth drew back her arm and let the dagger fly. The blade thunked into a pine knot several maddening inches below target. Never had her aim been so poor. Even as a beginner under T'Jhur's patient tutelage, T'Beth's knife had tracked true to her inner urgings. Why not now? She wanted to hurt Spock. She wanted to wound him the way he had wounded her, over and over, straight through the heart, blood deep. Sinking to the floor, she balled her hands into angry fists and wept.

In the morning she awoke dry-eyed and peeved with herself for giving in to anything so weak and useless as tears. No amount of crying would alter the painful circumstances of her life. She had learned that lesson many lonely years before any Klingon laid a hand on her. And there was another lesson she learned early. When she was angry, she was not afraid.

T'Beth's anger warmed and steadied her as she strapped her dagger beneath her pant leg. The weight of the sheath felt good. Carrying the weapon gave her a renewed feeling of security and power. Who knew what she would find at school today? But now she was prepared for anything.

An ominous hush stalked the halls of Baybridge. Throughout the day Zorlaa Suderman and her bruised cohorts dogged T'Beth, casting venomous glances and whispering behind their hands. Though they kept their distance, the treatment succeeded in making T'Beth uncomfortable. She was out the door as soon as the dismissal bell sounded. If she hurried she could catch the first shuttle. As she strode past the science building, a boy standing on the steps broke away from his companions and loped toward her.

"Hey!" he called out.

Tensing, she came to a halt. It was the boy who had witnessed her humiliation yesterday, the one with skin and eyes the color of chocolate.

"Hello," he greeted her. "Can we talk?"

She looked at him without saying anything, just hoping he would go away.

"My name is Morrow," he persisted. "Kevin Morrow."

 _Ah,_ T'Beth thought, _some spoiled relation of Admiral Morrow, the Commander of Starfleet._ He probably expected her to get down on her knees and thank him for saving her. She lifted her chin defiantly. "So?"

"So," he said, "now you know who I am…and I know who you are." _Spock's bastard daughter…the one who lies._ Young Morrow did not have to say it. T'Beth seemed to read it in his eyes, and started to turn away. "Wait," he said quickly, moving in front of her.

T'Beth backed a step, her knife hand poised against her thigh.

"I just want to ask you something," Morrow continued. "The way you took on those girls yesterday. I've never seen anything like it."

T'Beth stared at him and flexed her fingers. Her hand began to relax. "It's a Vulcan skill."

"Asumi?"

A bitter smile escaped her. "Hardly. No proper Vulcan would practice a form of combat relegated to the gutter."

Morrow's dark eyes widened. "Street fighting? On Vulcan?"

"Does that shock you?" T'Beth was almost beginning to enjoy herself. She didn't want this solemn-faced boy to like her. Most of all, she didn't want to like him. "A past as savage as Vulcan's does not die easily. There are always those who hunger for the old ways—and those who learn the old ways as an historical study."

Morrow considered for a moment. "I see. And in which category do you place yourself?"

She shrugged. "Ask the Vulcan Board of Parole. Ask my father or any member of my esteemed family."

"I'm not interested in their opinions. I'm interested in yours."

"Then you're a fool," she said cuttingly, and walked away. She had taken perhaps a dozen steps when Morrow's voice carried to her.

"Zorlaa and those others—don't worry about them—they're only jealous, you know!"

 _Jealous?_ T'Beth stopped short and stared behind her in mute astonishment. Morrow was nowhere to be seen. _Jealous of what?_ Surely the boy had been mocking her. She was a bastard. A misfit. A scrawny, ill-tempered creature who would never live up to her father's rigid expectations.


	2. Chapter 2

T'Beth was quiet at dinner. She chewed her food absently, scarcely hearing anything Gram and Aunt Doris were saying. Several minutes passed before she became aware of a silence at the table. Glancing up, she found herself the center of attention.

"You're a thousand miles away tonight," Amanda observed. "Is something bothering you?"

Almost without thinking, the question popped out. "Gram, do you think it's possible that anyone could be jealous of me?"

Amanda looked surprised. "Why…yes. I suppose so."

"Jealous of what?"

"Well," Amanda pondered, "you're bright…physically attractive…the daughter of a highly respected Starfleet officer…the granddaughter of an ambassador…"

"Oh, right." T'Beth's voice dripped with sarcasm. "How could I have forgotten?" Stabbing her fork into a piece of chicken breast, she shoved it into her mouth.

"T'Beth," Amanda said carefully, "if there's some problem at school…"

"No," T'Beth denied. "Everything's just fine."

Amanda visibly relaxed and glanced across the table at her sister. "Good. I'm glad to see that you're settling in at Baybridge. It's what I'd hoped for…before I leave."

The fork slipped from T'Beth's hand and clattered on her plate. Feeling panicky, she stared at her grandmother.

"T'Beth dear," Amanda said gently. "Sarek has been very patient through all this…but it's time that I return to Vulcan."

T'Beth forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She had known the moment of separation was coming, but thought she had conquered her feelings and dried her tears once and for all. Obviously she hadn't conquered anything. Pushing up from the table, she rushed out the back door, into the darkness. She moved quickly, stumbling over the uneven ground, until distance almost swallowed the little house with its glowing pinpoint windows. There in the chill of night, no one could hear her wrenching sobs.

What was the matter with her? Coming to Earth had been partly her choice. At times she had actually pleaded for the chance to live here. Shivering, she squeezed the tears from her eyes and gazed up into the overcast sky. Empty. Blank. Not a star of a starship in sight. Off in the distance she heard her grandmother calling. A childlike part of her wanted to respond, wanted to run and throw herself into Gram's arms and beg her to stay forever. But she knew what the answer would be. She stayed where she was. She waited until the redness faded from her eyes and she felt she could trust her voice completely. Then she headed back to the house. Chilled to the bone, she opened the front door and walked into the living room.

Amanda rose from a chair and hurried toward her. "T'Beth—thank God!"

T'Beth let herself be embraced, but made no move to return the gesture. "I'm sorry if I upset you," she said evenly. "I know you have to go back. I understand."

Amanda drew back and gave her a hard look, as if now that the hugging was over she would just as soon take her by the shoulders and give her a good shake.

 _Go ahead,_ T'Beth almost spouted, but holding tight to her Vulcan face, she said, "It's alright. Really." And she spent the rest of the evening pretending it was true.

oooo

Overnight it had rained. Fog clung to the landscape like a damp uneasy blanket as T'Beth made her way to school. At Baybridge she alighted from the shuttlebus and paused to fasten her jacket against the cold. Then she walked through the fog slowly.

She had not wanted to come to school today. Even with the dagger strapped to her leg, she felt lost and lonely. It was hard to think of Gram leaving soon, and this sort of weather depressed her. Gray mists always reminded her of the Klingon captivity. Though there had also been sunshine, it was the dampness she remembered—hour upon hour staring out into a fog, watching for the dark-haired slave in the yard below. Poor ill-clad creature swinging the Klingons' axe, mucking out their barn, letting himself be beaten. Day after day she had stood at a window, seeing too much, ashamed to death of her own father.

Back then she had not understood the Klingons' hold over him. But she, too, had experienced the ugliness of Torlath's blackmail. She, too, had done unspeakable things so Torlath would keep her father alive. Spock claimed he had only played the submissive slave to protect her, but sometimes she wondered about that. Later, on Vulcan, he had all but handed her over to the authorities who locked her away—just for knocking the stone heads off a couple of crumbling gargoyles. Where was his concern then? She would never forget the betrayal she felt when the council pronounced her sentence.

A bell on the campus began to chime. T'Beth rose from her thoughts and found that she had wandered near the stable. She paused, sorely tempted to saddle a horse and lose herself in the wooded network of riding trails. The day was so still that she could hear the horses snorting in their stalls.

Behind her, some small object pelted down through the branches of a tree. She turned, expecting to see a pinecone—and found Zorlaa Suderman hurtling toward her. The impact drove the air from T'Beth's lungs. Stunned, she fell onto her back. Half a dozen bodies landed atop her. She was coughing and struggling to breathe when Zorlaa punched her in the stomach.

"How do you like it?" Zorlaa hissed. "Think you can push us around? Think you're so damn special?"

In the midst of her pain T'Beth remembered the dagger at her ankle. She strained to free her arm, but too many girls held her down. She lay helpless and raging as Zorlaa curled her clawed hand into a fist and hit her again. The blow glanced off T'Beth's cheekbone and struck her nose. Brownish blood streamed from a nostril.

"Go ahead," someone crowed. "Give it to her!"

"No," said another. "Come on, Zorlaa, that's enough."

"You afraid?" demanded the Helvan, her yellow eyes glittering down at T'Beth.

T'Beth was not sure if the question was meant for her or for the girl who had called for an end to this. She kept still, hoping one or two of them would ease their hold on her. No one did. Zorlaa rained down a flurry of blows that left her sick to her stomach.

"What's the matter?" the Helvan taunted. "I thought Vulcans were supposed to like pain." Her scaly fingers shifted on T'Beth's body. "Come on, you guys—turn her over."

An upsurge of panic made T'Beth struggle, but there was no stopping the determined strength that pushed and tugged her firmly into place. Zorlaa climbed onto her back and shoved her face into the mud.

"You slug," snarled the Helvan. "Eat the dirt! Open your mouth! Eat it!"

There was laughter. T'Beth spat a mouthful of blood and grit and suddenly found that no one was paying much attention to her right hand. Zorlaa kneed her in the ribs. Though the padding of T'Beth's jacket prevented any real injury, she feigned a spasm of pain, jerking her leg upward. Then the dagger was in her grip. Jabbing her elbow into Zorlaa's thigh, she twisted her body and slashed the blade across the startled Helvan's shoulder. At the sight of the jade-handled dagger the other girls jumped back, wide-eyed. T'Beth rose to a crouch and confronted her attackers with white-hot fury.

Zorlaa drew away, shaken, a scaly hand clamped over her injured shoulder. Thick yellow blood seeped from between her clawed fingers. "Get her!" she shrieked. "Get that knife away from her!"

T'Beth experienced a certain grim satisfaction as one by one the Helvan's cohorts turned and ran. With her eyes locked on Zorlaa, she edged forward, menacing the lone Helvan with her dagger.

A man's voice rang out. "You there! Drop that knife!"

T'Beth glanced toward the sound. Several figures were approaching through the fog, among them the principal of Baybridge.

"Drop the knife," he repeated loudly. "Stay right where you are—both of you."

T'Beth's mouth went dry as dust. With an effort she loosened her numbed fingers from the dagger's hilt. As the weapon slipped from her hand she felt as if the universe were shifting and changing forever.

oooo

Amanda found T'Beth sitting alone in the principal's office. "What have you done?" she said, the shock and anger in her voice plain to hear.

T'Beth stared at the carpet beside her grandmother's shoes. It didn't seem fair that she should feel ashamed. She hadn't provoked the attack. She had only been defending herself.

Amanda came and stood over her. "You told me everything was alright."

"Yes," T'Beth said. "I did."

"A _knife!"_ Amanda shook her head in disbelief. "Smuggled all the way from Vulcan?"

"Yes," T'Beth admitted.

"Where did you get it? Why did you do it?"

T'Beth was silent.

"Answer me!" Amanda snapped. "You _stabbed_ a girl and now you sit there and say nothing?"

T'Beth leaned forward and rested her battered face in her hands. She felt sick, drained, dangerously close to tears. When would this nightmare be over?

Amanda collected herself and spoke again. "Do you know what will happen if this goes to the police? Have you forgotten that you're on parole?"

T'Beth dropped her hands and glared at her grandmother. "On Vulcan I cut up a few statues. Now I'm cutting up people—is that it?"

"Is it?" Amanda pulled up a chair and sat nearby. "I'm trying to understand you, T'Beth. Tell me what happened—the truth, now."

T'Beth felt a prickling at the back of her eyes and blinked hard. Taking a deep breath, she repeated what she had already told the principal and the school psychologist.

Amanda waited until she was finished. Watching for T'Beth's reaction, she said, "There are a lot of people here telling a different story."

"I know—" T'Beth stopped and swallowed hard. Each word was a struggle. "I _know_ what they're saying, Gram, but it's not true—I _swear_ it. I…I don't know how else to make you believe me."

Amanda sighed and turned away.

An hour later T'Beth gathered her belongings and left Baybridge under a cloud of disgrace. Aunt Doris was out of town for the day, so Amanda had driven in by herself. As T'Beth rode home in the car, Amanda repeated her concern that the incident be kept from the police. The staff at Baybridge had made it clear they would do everything in their power to downplay the "unfortunate affair". After all, the school had a reputation to maintain.

"Thank heavens the Suderman girl wasn't badly injured," Amanda said. "She comes from a distinguished family. Her parents may not want to stir up publicity by pressing charges. Maybe if I talk to them—"

"You mean buy them off," T'Beth cut in, "don't you? Is that all you can think about? Preventing a scandal?"

Amanda brought the car down and parked on the side of the road. "A scandal!" she said incredulously. "You foolish child, is that what you think this is all about? Don't you realize what might happen?"

T'Beth just looked at her.

"Sarek and your father pulled a lot of legal strings to bring you to Earth before your parole was up. If the Sudermans go to the police, whatever the outcome, you'll be deported right back to Vulcan. Do you feel like going before the council again?"

T'Beth folded her arms across her middle and huddled in the seat. Just thinking about the elders of ShiKahr aggravated the dull aching in the pit of her stomach. They would never believe she was innocent. Why should they? Even her own grandmother didn't.

Amanda started the engine and flew on in silence. As the car glided above the winding road, it occurred to T'Beth that Grandmother had never even asked if was alright. In the side mirror her face looked battered and puffy. A bit of dried blood showed in one nostril. Doctor McCoy wouldn't have taken the word of a school nurse. He would have fussed over her like a mother hen. And Jim? For a time T'Beth consoled herself with thoughts of the former admiral. If Jim Kirk were here, would he believe her? Would he try to understand her need for the dagger and why she had been compelled to use it? Sure, maybe he would be angry, but even so he would manage to made her feel safe, feel loved. But Jim _wasn't_ here. And the time for fantasies was over.

Amanda drove the car into Doris' garage and stepped out. T'Beth fumbled with the seat belt. Her fingers felt cold and stiff.

"Get into the house _now,"_ Amanda ordered, as if T'Beth were deliberately causing the delay.

T'Beth yanked at the seat belt and it popped loose. Glowering, she got out and slammed the car door.

Amanda's control slipped. "Anger. Violence. Must it always be so with you? Did you learn nothing from your teachers on Vulcan?" She didn't wait for T'Beth to answer, but plunged on in a voice heavy with disappointment. "When I think of that frightened eleven-year-old Spock brought to me. Of all the hopes and dreams I had for you then. T'Beth—" She raised her arms in a gesture of hopelessness. "What went wrong?"

T'Beth stood stiff and silent, her hands clasped behind her in unwitting imitation of her father. _What went wrong?_ The bitter losses, the loneliness, the betrayals, the humiliations—surely she knew. Yet with her question she chose to ignore all that, to point a finger of reproach, to heap all the blame on T'Beth.

" _Talk_ to me," Amanda pleaded.

T'Beth's temper flared. "And say what? That I'm bad? That I should be locked up?"

"No. Of course not."

"But you believe the other girls. I took up a knife and attacked them for no reason. That makes me a criminal, doesn't it? If I did it to them, I could do it to anyone. To Father…or Aunt Doris…or maybe even you. Think about it—any one of you could be next."

Amanda's face paled. "Surely, T'Beth, that is not some kind of threat…"

Strangely, T'Beth found she was no longer angry. Amanda's words had moved her beyond simple anger to some deeper place where pain obscured every other emotion. She found herself saying, "Why not? It's what you expect, isn't it? I can see it on your face—I'm dangerous."

Amanda turned and left her standing alone in the damp garage.

oooo

Holed up in her room, T'Beth scarcely noticed the fog giving way to warming afternoon sunshine. Hour after hour she lay listlessly on the bed, staring at pine knots, at the ceiling, at the nothingness of empty air. Her body ached from all the abuse it had received. Her spirit felt beaten and betrayed by her grandmother's lack of understanding.

What would happen to her now? It was almost certain that she would be expelled from Baybridge. Aunt Doris would also ask her to leave. No boarding school would accept her now. That meant a return to Vulcan, even if she weren't legally deported. T'Beth shuddered at the thought of facing her grandfather. Sarek had worked hard to earn her this chance on Earth. He had put his reputation as an ambassador on the line. He had invested some measure of trust in her.

And then there was Spock. T'Beth's eyes came to rest on his portrait. What would be _his_ reaction when he heard about the knifing? Would he accept Zorlaa's story over that of his own daughter? Would he understand something of her need to carry a weapon—some line of defense against the waking nightmares that stalked her? She sure couldn't look to _him_ for any security. It was no different now than when the Klingons held them. _Yes, my lord...no, my lord._ That's how it had been under captivity. Watching and waiting for the one unguarded moment when she could run the hell out of there and try to save her own skin. And when the moment finally came, the guilt had come with it, the crushing realization that she couldn't leave her father to Torlath because Torlath would make him pay for her escape—in blood. So she had stayed on, pleasuring the filthy old Klingon—for Spock. Just as she had gone back to the Vulcan elders and confessed her silly vandalism—for Spock. And what had she gotten out of it? Maybe she _should_ have run off and left him to bleed.

oooo

T'Beth awoke with a start. She lay fully clothes on her bed. The room was black and cool, and something moved in the darkness. Gasping, she drew back and nearly toppled onto the floor.

"T'Beth," spoke a gentle voice. "T'Beth, child. It's only me."

The bedside lamp came on. T'Beth found Aunt Doris standing over her in a rumpled pink nightgown.

"Oh dear," Doris said, taking stock of the bruising on T'Beth's face. "Are you alright? I thought I heard you cry out."

The pounding of T'Beth's heart began to subside. Warily she settled back on her pillows. "I must have been dreaming. I don't remember."

"Small wonder," Doris said, "after everything you've been through." Perching on the mattress, she looked at T'Beth kindly. "Your face, dear. It must hurt."

T'Beth did not know what to make of her aunt's show of compassion. Why was Doris stalling? Why didn't she just say what they both knew was coming, and get it over with? _T'Beth, I'm sorry you got hurt, but you brought it on yourself. You always do. When I asked you to live with me, I had no idea it would be like this…_

"T'Beth dear." Doris' brows drew together. "Why were you carrying that knife? Don't you feel safe here?"

Sighing, T'Beth looked aside. As she struggled with her reply, a warm wrinkled hand closed over hers. The caring touch made a lump form in her throat. "For awhile…I almost did feel safe. And then the trouble started at school."

"Mandy told me what you said. Those horrid girls!"

T'Beth stared at her. "You mean…you _believe_ me?"

"Of course I believe you."

"But Gram thinks—"

"Never mind that." Doris patted her hand. "I believe you and that's all that matters."

T'Beth's head swam with questions. "But why? Aunt Doris, I don't understand. Why would you take _my_ word for it?"

Doris' expression took a distant turn, as if the bedroom had slipped away and she was seeing another place, a bygone era. "Sometimes it's hard to know who to believe. Your father—it wasn't much different for him, those times he visited with Mandy when he was a child. How my boys plagued him. But of course I didn't see it, didn't want to see it. Back then Spock was…an easy target. I'm afraid I wasn't much help to him." Her warm eyes focused once more on T'Beth. "Try to get some sleep, dear. You'll feel better tomorrow."

After her aunt left, T'Beth scooped Mister from the floor and cradled him for a long while. The next morning she awoke late and soaked in a hot bath before dressing. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she braided her long, damp hair into a coil that hung over her shoulder. Better to do it looking out a window than seeing her battered reflection in the mirror. She didn't need any reminders about the knifing. Even with Doris' words of encouragement, it was going to be hard getting through the day.

As she finished with her hair, the door nudged open. Doris' big gray tomcat ambled over and jumped into her lap. Purring loudly, he pumped her leg with his fat paws.

"Good boy," T'Beth murmured, stroking his soft fur. Gathering him into her arms, she walked out to the kitchen. Amanda and Doris were in their usual places, sipping their usual cups of breakfast tea.

Amanda looked at her without expression.

"Morning dear," Doris said. "Are you hungry?"

Amanda's chilly presence stole away T'Beth's appetite. Hugging the cat a little too firmly, she shook her head. The gray bundle of fur and claws leaped to the floor.

Amanda's eyebrow arched. "Fasting? If you think that's going to arouse my sympathy…or your father's—"

T'Beth turned on her, heart pounding. "I don't give a damn what my father thinks!"

Silence, then Grandmother said, "Very well. Then you won't care that a message is on its way to him."

T'Beth's eyes narrowed. "You couldn't wait, could you? I can just imagine what you said."

Doris raised a hand. "Now, now. Calm down, T'Beth. Spock will know your side of it, too."

T'Beth wiped at an angry tear threatening to run down her cheek. Her fingers came away trembling. "Did you tell him, Aunt Doris?"

At Doris' smile, Amanda went stiff with indignation. "Doris, no! Don't you realize the child is lying?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Doris answered mildly, "but there are two sides to the issue. Her father has a right to know."

"To know the _truth!"_ Amanda countered.

The two sisters glared at each other across the table. Before either could put in another word, the phone rang. Doris went into the living room. A moment later she was back, her blue eyes flashing, her lips pursed. "It's Baybridge. For you, Amanda."

Only Doris' presence kept T'Beth from going to the doorway and listening in on her grandmother's conversation. It was all she could do to stand there waiting, knowing with terrible certainty that something more had happened, something even worse, something that would make Amanda nod and say, _See, Doris? It's just like I told you. Heaven knows, I've tried my best to teach that girl right from—_

"Mandy!" Doris exclaimed. "What is it?"

Amanda stood in the doorway, white to the lips, one hand clinging to the doorframe as if for support. In a panic T'Beth thought, _Zorlaa's dead! Now I'm going to be arrested—charged with murder!_

Doris went to her sister. Putting an arm around Amanda, she gently guided her to a kitchen chair. "There now," she soothed. "Tell us what's happened."

Amanda drew in a deep breath and folded her hands on the table. Little by little the color returned to her cheeks—so much color that she appeared to be blushing.

T'Beth could no longer bear it. "I should never have come to Earth," she agonized. "Gram, you're right. I'm just—"

"No," Amanda broke in. "That's not it. In fact, it seems…that I owe you something of an apology."

T'Beth stared at her, open-mouthed.

"A student at Baybridge has come forward and collaborated more of your story. Of course, that still doesn't excuse your use of the dagger, but under the circumstances…"

"Who?" T'Beth scarcely had enough breath to speak. "Which student?"

"Admiral Morrow's son."

oooo

It was actually good to be back. T'Beth had never thought she would feel that way about Baybridge, but now that Zorlaa was expelled and the days warming their way toward summer, there was nothing better than spending her spare time on horseback roaming the pleasant tangle of campus trails. She knew them all by heart, just as she knew every one of the horses. It had not taken her long to befriend the fine animals, or master the slim graceful saddle called "English". Riding came naturally to her. Sometimes, when the far meadow was deserted, she even improvised a low barrier and jumped—although it was strictly against the rules.

Just now she was content to move slowly, thinking, the reins light and easy in her hands. This morning there had been word from the Enterprise. Its mission was at an end. Jim and McCoy looked forward to camping with her soon at Yosemite. And Father? Well, it looked like he would be there, too. For once she had opened his message. He said he would deal with her and the matter of the Vulcan dagger when he arrived.

Her lips pressed into a grim line. As if he didn't owe _her_ a serious explanation or two. But never mind that—she would handle the situation somehow, when the moment arrived. This day was too beautiful to waste on worry. Maybe it was the weather, all green and blue and bright with the golden warmth of Earth's sun. A few minutes more and she would turn back and head for the bus knowing that Aunt Doris waited for her at home. It was a good comfortable routine, unspoiled by the tensions and clashes that had marked the final days before her grandmother's departure. She was getting along just fine without Amanda. Now that the worst was over, there were times when she actually felt happy.

T'Beth noticed a shift in her horse's attention and gripped the reins cautiously. A rider appeared in a curve of the trail up ahead.

"Hi!" He waved and urged his dark mount into a trot.

T'Beth continued on and met him. Side by side, their horses sniffed at one another and pawed the dirt restlessly.

"Hello, Morrow," T'Beth said in a formal tone. She couldn't bring herself to say "Kevin", though sometimes she thought of him by that name.

The young man flashed her a peculiar look—part amusement, part exasperation. "T'Beth, there's no need to endure my company just because I helped you out a little. If you don't want me around, just say so."

T'Beth went hot with embarrassment. Hanging her head she stammered, "No. I…I _do_ like you…only…only…"

Morrow have a short nervous laugh. "Only what?"

A moment ago she had been so content. Now, as the horse fidgeted beneath her, she found herself wishing the ground would open up and swallow them—hoof, saddle, and jodhpurs. Shamefaced, she admitted, "I'm not…not very comfortable around boys. That's all."

An awkward silence followed. T'Beth feared Morrow would laugh again, or even worse, ask "Why?" As is she could just tell him something like that, as if there were even words to describe the horrors done to her by his fellow man.

"Well," he said at last, "if that's the way it is, just think of me as a friend." Then taking up his reins, "Hey, friend! Beat you to the stable!"

Morrow thundered off at a gallop. Astonished, T'Beth wheeled her eager mount and stared after him. The young cheat! Was this his idea of a contest? Her heart speeding, she eased up on the reins and her horse sprang forward. Before it was over he would run himself into a lather and she would catch hell about that. Heedless, she crouched low at his mane, urging him faster and faster. Flat out, hooves flying, the wind in her face. Oh, it was joy enough, this moment. If only they could keep running forever.


End file.
